


he ain't heavy, he's my brother

by boykingofhell (alloftimeandspace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloftimeandspace/pseuds/boykingofhell
Summary: based off of the song "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by the Hollies





	

**Author's Note:**

> The road is long  
> With many a winding turn  
> That leads us to who knows where  
> Who knows when  
> But I'm strong  
> Strong enough to carry him  
> He ain't heavy, he's my brother
> 
> So on we go  
> His welfare is of my concern  
> No burden is he to bear  
> We'll get there  
> For I know  
> He would not encumber me  
> He ain't heavy, he's my brother
> 
> If I'm laden at all  
> I'm laden with sadness  
> That everyone's heart  
> Isn't filled with the gladness  
> Of love for one another
> 
> It's a long, long road  
> From which there is no return  
> While we're on the way to there  
> Why not share  
> And the load  
> Doesn't weigh me down at all  
> He ain't heavy, he's my brother
> 
> He's my brother  
> He ain't heavy, he's my brother

Deep down, Dean knew. He watched Sam spending nights bent protectively over folded forms, nicking stamps from post offices, coming home from school hiding printed transcripts and glossy brochures, sneaking off to drop meticulously sealed envelopes into post boxes on unknown streets, sneaking scholarship books off the library shelves along with the usual hunting research, offering nonchalantly to check that PO box in Kansas, the one they stopped most often at, every time they drove through, Dean holding his breath every time Sam went to check. He was loosing Sam. And Sam, Sam kept creeping further away from him, fighting with Dean more, aggravating Dad more, spending all day in silence, lost somewhere in his head. By the time the over sized envelope arrived in the mail, he'd already resigned himself to it. Sam was smart, brilliant really, _nerd_ , he called him, but it was all affection. God, he didn't want to lose Sam, but more than anything, he wanted him out. He couldn't be selfish, try to keep him around, or at least that's what he knew in his gut, but the skewed Winchester family values had been long ingrained in him, and he couldn't shake the sinking feeling of abandonment, of betrayal from the little brother he'd raised.   
  
The day the letter finally came, he stumbled back into the rental that night to find Sam sitting motionless on his bed, alone in the dark, long legs dangling over the edge, toes touching the floor, waiting. His head was tilted downwards, bangs hanging soft over his silhouette, eyes downcast, long eyelashes resting feather-light against his cheek. Dean stopped in the doorway, apprehensive. "Sammy?" Sam didn't answer, just picked up the envelope from beside him, unopened, and held it out to Dean, still looking intently through the darkness at the dirty carpet. Dean took the letter, too thick to be a rejection, and turned on a lamp, silently opening the envelope, reading slowly, once, twice, three times through the letter. It was real. It was happening. He felt his stomach drop like a rock, swallowed hard and looked towards Sam. "You gonna tell Dad?" he asked, ignoring the slight crack in his voice and hoping Sam hadn't noticed.

"No."  
  
"You're really gonna leave us?" He knew there was a nasty tone to his voice, a sharp, angry twinge that sounded uncomfortably like Dad.

"De-"

"You're just gonna abandon your family? After everything?"

"It's not like that, De, you gotta-"

"GOD DAMMIT SAM." he roared, a sudden burst of anger swelling out of his chest, the painful bubble that'd been growing for the past few months suddenly bursting, eyes flashing angrily. "Might as well not even fuckin' be family. Just fuckin' go already, 'f that's what you want."

Sam looked fearful, doe eyes clouding with tears, shrinking back from Dean's anger as Dean tossed the letter at him. "Dean-" he pleaded, voice breaking before it made it past his throat. Dean turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, heading towards the kitchen to find a drink. He left Sam standing alone in the middle of the room, hot tears spilling over onto his cheeks and trailing down his face, salty on his lips. Sam swiped a hand across his face, brushing the tears away roughly, and dug his duffle bag out from under the bed, throwing what little he had into it haphazardly, creeping out of the bedroom and through the front door without so much as a goodbye, not a single idea of where to go until fall term started at Stanford. Stanford. It should've made him happier, should've set him smiling, but it all seemed worthless without Dean's blessing; the look on Dean's face burnt thick into his brain. He turned towards the town, bag slung over his shoulder, and started walking.  
  
Dean's guilt set in with the first taste of whisky; he went back to talk to Sam and found him gone, duffel bag missing, and started searching frantically for him. All of his anger turned to fear, worry, the weight of Sam's well being resting on his stooped shoulders. The town was alive; a Friday night in a dump with too many dive bars and not enough money to go around. He fervently hoped Sam hadn't skipped town already, checking one bar after another, asking desperately, trying not to think what could happen to a pretty little kid like Sammy in that damn town. He found him passed out drunk in an alley, a tiny crumpled figure curled against his duffel bag in the shadows of the crumbling brick, bearing the remnants of a fight, face bruised, nose bleeding, breathing catching oddly as his chest rose and fell unsteadily. It was all Dean could do to keep from losing it right there. He checked for serious, immediate injuries, and finding none that couldn't wait until they got back, wrapped Sam, shivering violently on the cold ground, in his jacket, throwing the duffel over his shoulder and scooping up Sam gently, walking slowly to keep from jostling him, ignoring the ache in his own chest. He murmured softly to Sam, brushing his bangs gently off his forehead as he went.  
  
The walk back was long, winding through cracked sidewalk paths and by collapsing buildings; they were both cold and his feet ached by the time he found himself shoving the door to the rental open with his elbow, hands occupied by Sam and the duffel. He took Sam to the bedroom, laid him down gently, tucked him carefully under as many layers of blankets as he could find to warm him up, not daring to try to change him into warmer clothes for fear of injuring him further. Sam stirred, looking up at Dean through half-closed eyes. "De-'m sorry, 'm so sorry-" "Shhh," Dean whispered, cutting him off gently. "'s my fault Sammy. It'll be okay, go back to sleep." Sam obeyed, dropping his head back against the pillow again, and Dean checked him for broken bones. His injuries were minor, Dean thanked whoever was looking out for the both of them, and washed Sam up, apologizing constantly under his breath all the while, though Sam was asleep. When he'd done everything he could, he climbed carefully into the bed next to Sam, curling up close to his little brother in all efforts to share his body heat. "'Night, little brother," he whispered. "'m so sorry Sammy"  
  
Morning found them both curled around each other, safe, asleep in the warm glow of the early sun. Another hour found them laying in bed, awake, sleepy apologies spilling from Dean's chapped lips, rough morning voice cracking as he begged for Sam's forgiveness; he gave it willingly, content simply with being back in his brother's good graces after so many months of tension. Months later, a sleek black Impala dropped a gangly boy in a borrowed hoodie off at the Stanford campus; the driver called out a question, the boy nodded, smiled, waved, pretended tears weren't already sparkling in his eyes. The driver cracked a half smiled, pulled away with one calloused hand on the wheel, didn't look behind him as the tears started to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr - http://demonblood-boyking.tumblr.com/  
> // currently taking fic requests //


End file.
